


A converstation that counted.

by SaidbhinLuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaidbhinLuch/pseuds/SaidbhinLuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson certainly must have had a thing or two to say to Molly Hooper once Sherlock revealed her role in everything. He may only get some of the answers he seeks, but some understanding; yes. Alarming and unnerving Molly as he does so.<br/>Hints of Sherlock/Molly, Molly/Tom and John/Mary. Mostly a friendship piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A converstation that counted.

 

Molly signed off on a report, blinking heavily. She swept her plait off one shoulder and took a sip of coffee before gagging. How long had she left that there? She coughed, pushing the stone cold coffee away with a single finger Half one. As much as Molly Hooper loved her job, she was looking forward to a weekend off. And five o'clock could not come quick enough.

The popping and cracking of her cartilage as she stretched her arms out echoed in her silent office.

The door opened forcibly, a shade away from bouncing off its hinges. She fell off her seat, sending the coffee cup into the wall where it shattered, leaving brown streaks staining the wall.

'Molly Hooper.' She poked her head over the desk; eyes shooting wide open at the sight of John Watson. Molly imagined her eyes were still the size of saucers as she remained crouched behind the desk.

'Hullo John.' High pitched and squeaky. Panicked and guilty. Molly had to fight the impulse to duck under the desk. Alas, she hadn't fully managed to stop herself from moving, dipping slightly further under.

'Are you planning on getting up anytime soon?' His head tilted to the side, eyebrows pulled up, face set in stone.

'Well I was hoping that I'd look so pathetic that you'd just… _go_.' She shrugged, the knuckles of her hands turning white. She hadn't even registered the fact that she was clutching onto the edge of the desk for dear life.

'We have a lot to talk about you and I.' He strolled over slowly to her desk, pulled out the chair and sat down. Face still cool. Legs and arms crossed. Molly, however, remained frozen staring at him.

'Any time now.' He settled back into the seat in a way that was very Holmesian altogether.

'I- uh- yeah.' She stood up slowly, brushing down her colourful jumper and pants. Anything to gather herself for the conversation. She glanced down at her phone to check the time. No messages. Not even a couple of minutes had passed. Well, she knew what she was going to need to get through the ensuing conversation.

'Okay, I think this conversation needs a drink, or a few.' John's eyebrow shot straight up, eyes lingering on her ring for a moment.

'That I can agree to. You are paying.'

'Fair enough.'

'Oh this is hardly fair.' Molly flinched at the cold tone as John left the office leaving her standing in his wake, wondering how she was going to fix it. It was both a blessing and a curse that all the other pathologists and Mike owed her a million and a half favours. She felt her afternoon both open up and about to crush her.

* * *

 

The pair sat in the corner of Molly's local. Her appearance with one John Watson had perked some interest amongst the regulars. John was tucked into the corner carefully scanning over the crowd, resting on Molly waiting for her to start.

'Okay. I can't tell you much.' She looked down at her glass of wine thoughtfully. John's face contorted at her words.

'It's not because I don't want to, I do. But there is a reason Sherlock stayed away from London and _you_ for so long. There is still a risk to it all. At least, I think so.'

'You think so?' John's tone was sarcastic, which had Molly trying not to bristle visibly at his words.

'We haven't talked about it. We haven't really talked. You know what Sherlock's like.'

'He likes to talk.' He remarked, taking a large sip of beer. Eyebrows knitted together. Cantankerous as she had ever seen a man.

'About everything and everyone else. That isn't even in the same neighbourhood as talking about himself.' Molly pointed a finger at him, one eyebrow arched. A puff of air left him, a puff that could be taken as a laugh. Molly stared at her phone as thoughts began to whirl in John's head.

'Did he contact you?' The phone seemed to trigger the question, face steely once more as he forced her to look him in the eye.

'Maybe twice…' For the first time since he approached her, he looked unsure; and genuinely curious about how she was doing with everything.

'I thought…' John's chest hitched, realisation drifting over his features. Molly smiled ruefully; head dropping to her left, eyes drifting away from him. She imagined they were rather clouded over, thinking back to those lonely days.

'That he kept popping by? No. If I was lucky I'd get a message from Mycroft saying he was alive, but I never really _saw_ Sherlock.' Molly rubbed at her eye then worried her lip some.

'What do you mean?' His trend of sounding unsure continued. Molly took in a very shaky breath, remembering all the nights and days she worried about the man in question.

'Well, in the past couple of years… didn't you ever have moments in London, where you were convinced someone was watching you? But it wasn't a bad thing, like an old friend had noticed you on the other side of the street; but was never going to catch you.' Keeping the worry that she had in fact been imagining it was harder than she thought. The groves at his glabella deepened; eyes flickering back and forth between two imaginary spots.

'Yes actually, but I just dismissed it.' His hand spasmed on the table. His glass teetered wildly as his fingers knocked against it. Molly stopped it from falling off the table.

'Well of course you would. I was looking for that hope. Hope that he was still there. And I think I caught him a couple of times. Once he might have been ginger…'

'What do you mean " _hope"_?' His head shot up, lines getting deeper in his face.

'…' Molly paused at the question. A lump in her throat so big she thought that she would not be able to breath for it.

'I was stuck. I knew he might be alive, but with the work he was doing, he could have been dead at any given moment. For two years I spent most of it stuck in limbo. It doesn't excuse or _forgive_ me for lying to you, but it was never an easy choice. Not knowing made the lying _so much worse_.' The tears welled up in her eyes the moment she managed to get out a word. She struggled control the tears.

'Why did you do it?' John sounded amazed, but more than a tad worried. She let out a single laugh; shaking her head good naturedly.

'You know why.'

'You loved him.'

'No one ever stops loving that man. Do they?' Her lips curved up again. One hand trailed up and down her other arm, round the curve of her elbow.

John's eyes flickered to her ring, but on seeing her gentle smile understood and returned it. The silence they sat in now was far more companionable. Molly watched carefully as his right hand fluttered to his jacket, checking something and sighing in relief.

'So what's she like?' She smiled encouragingly; trying not to laugh at his confusion.

'What?' He had that look in his eyes; the one she used to see when Sherlock made a deduction completely out of left field. Something of a deer about it.

'The ring?' She jutted her chin out towards his upper pocket knowingly.

'How-' His head flicked down to his pocket and up at her, eyes even wider and somewhat slack-jawed.

'Come on, you know Sherlock Holmes, you are bound to pick up a trick or two.' She sucked in her bottom lip, waiting for him to start talking.

'Mary.' The joy in him was palpable despite the insanity of the past week. His eyes shone warmly, a happy sparkle that she doubted had been around in quite some time.

'Congratulations.' She reached over and squeezed his hand, watching in delight as the smile blossomed on his face.

'I haven't actually asked her yet. Sherlock has the worst timing.' Her hand flew to her mouth, at the realisation of how Sherlock had earned his injuries.

'No!' Her eyes bugged out of her head, fingers digging into the skin around her mouth ever so slightly.

'Oh yes.' He mockingly smiled at her before his face just dropped.

'Oh god!' John watched as she struggled to bite down on the giggle at the image of Sherlock inadvertently gate-crashing John's proposal.

'Don't laugh.' He pointed at finger at her, head tilting to the side; eyes wide. But she couldn't help it, she started giggling.

'I'm sorry! Maybe next time?'John rolled his eyes, with generous dollops of good humour.

'If you could keep him away from me…' Hands held up, index fingers out; face dead serious.

'Ah. Time. The least I could do for you.' She dipped her head, plait bouncing off her cheek.

'Thank you Molly.'

Both their phones buzzed on the table, his message no doubt from Mary and she had two messages; Tom and Sherlock. Great.

John got up and left the table, making a call. She gathered up the glasses and dropped them at the bar. Mickey, the young bartender looked at her in confusion. Molly just smiled tightly, leaving a very generous tip under the pint glass and a look. She looped her massively large scarf around her, starting as she nearly walked into John.

'There's one thing I do want to say to you. Actually a few, but one that really matters…' His face was set again, dead straight. Molly nodded slowly, letting out a shaky breath.

'Okay.' She set her shoulders, clenching her jaw; bracing herself.

'Thank you. Molly Hooper.' The last thing she ever expected was to be enveloped in a massive bear hug by the slightly shaky John. Molly knew that the only thing preventing her from collapsing was the bone deep hug. Tears rolled down her cheek, part joy, part guilt and part sorrow.

But the joy was the greater part of it.

The last thing Molly had ever expected was thanks for what she had to do. John pulled back, only the faintest glimmer of anger left in his eyes. Kissed her on the cheek and strolled away, pausing to wave at her.

Her phone rang, Molly let it ring a moment; watching as John hailed a taxi.

Though she blinked in confusion as she noticed the name on her screen.

'Sherlock? You hate phone calls.' She swiped at her nose, coughing a bit. It would not do to be spluttering, even if it _was_ his fault.

'I'm aware. I need your assistance. Can you come to Baker Street?'


End file.
